Saturday, 1 January 2011

1, 1, 11


Standing under the moon

last night,

listening to the soulful slow

blowing of the horns on the boats

welcoming in a new year.

Melancholy tuned into my

heart like lost chords.

Memories of old, crumpled train tickets,

journals filled to the brim with my words

that hold the keys to my heart.

Notes of someone near

playing the cello

the notes, taking me far far away on the night wind.

Longing for the candour and the shape

of your face

close to mine

my trembling heart,

in your open palm.

Wishes

wishes

wishes.



1, 1,  11.

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